


Trooping With Crows

by Telanu



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/F, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-10 00:56:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telanu/pseuds/Telanu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Romeo & Juliet-type AU thingy, with a much younger (read: seventeen) and more naïve Andy, who rebels against her father's authoritarian rule--especially when she meets his longtime enemy, the enigmatic Miranda Priestly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trooping With Crows

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: This fic is unfinished and will remain so. If you have a problem with that, do not read this.

 

Andy skulked around the perimeter of the party, keeping to the walls, trying to breathe in the crush of people. Well, she hadn't wanted to be noticed, so it looked as if she didn't have to worry about that, at least. Nobody would pick her out in this crowd, especially since she was unescorted, and wearing a mask to boot.

And a good thing, too. She felt out-of-place and embarrassed, looking around her at all the fine people. She was wearing one of her mother's old dresses that she'd fished out of the closet. It fit her pretty well, and was in pristine condition, but it was at least twenty years old. Everybody here was obviously wearing brand-new stuff that had been tailored specifically for them. Andy, who'd thought she looked very nice in the mirror this evening, suddenly felt like a total slob.

Just then, somebody elbowed her, nearly pushing her into a wall. "Oh, sorry, darling," a guy in a tuxedo--with a purple bow tie--said. Andy froze, before she remembered her mask. He was wearing a mask too, a little black one that only covered his eyes. He smiled at her and gestured at her dress. "Ooh la la," he said. "Vintage Dior. Haven't seen that in a while. Great find--trés chic!" He gave a silly little gesture with his hand, laughed, and disappeared back into the crowd of people.

Oh. Well, that made Andy feel better. Her dress wasn't old--apparently it was "vintage." Okay. If anybody asked her, that's what she'd say. Maybe she could get away with calling her shoes vintage, too. Or maybe not, given the way Nigel had winced when he saw them. At least the hem of her gown went all the way to the floor.

Miranda Priestly sure knew how to throw a costume party. Except nobody was really in a costume; everybody was in evening dress with tiny little masks on, just like Andy, and some people didn't even have those. Nigel had been right on the money, and Andy was very glad she hadn't come in a real costume after all.

Could you just do what you liked, at a costume party, without worrying what the invitation said? Were all society parties like this? Andy certainly wouldn't know. She found that she was having a hard time breathing. All the lights, the color, the people and the music--she couldn't imagine anything more different from her quiet home, and the occasional company of her well-mannered, father-approved friends.

Speaking of friends, maybe Emily was around here somewhere. The thought made Andy's heart lift a little bit, even as she had to admit that she'd have no idea what to say to Emily, or even if she should say anything at all--what if Emily told Andy's father that she'd seen Andy here tonight?

But surely Emily wouldn't do that. Even if she thought Andy was..."weird"...she'd kissed her, and nobody had ever kissed Andy before, and it had felt really nice. Soft, and kind of sweet. Andy thought that she would probably much rather kiss Emily again than Preston Roberts, or whatever his name was. Not that her father would approve of that, either, even if he had picked Preston out himself.

But her dad wasn't here. He'd never come to an event like this--so shallow, superficial, full of the kind of people who'd ruined Andy's mother. And if Andy just kept her mask on, then nobody here would ever guess who she was. Heck, if she took it off she'd probably remain safely incognito. She'd never laid eyes on any of these fancy people in her life, even the ones whose faces she could see. She recognized some of them from the papers she was allowed to read--there was the mayor, there was an actress--but they'd never know who she was, even though her father was one of the wealthiest, most famous people in the whole city. It was kind of exciting, actually. Like a game of hide-and-seek and dress-up all at once, only for real, and not for children.

Still, Andy felt very much like a child at the moment. She wished she was like Emily, who'd grown up in this world. Here Andy was, almost eighteen and a total homebody who'd never even been to a real school, who didn't have anybody to talk to, and was worried every single second that she'd make an awful mistake, and where was Emily, anyway? How could Andy even hope to find her in this crowd?

The feeling of playing a delightful game began to disappear, and Andy felt awkward all over again. It didn't matter who her father was. She was out of place here, on her almost-stolen invitation. And if her dad did find out that Andy had snuck out, had come here...maybe she should go. She'd wanted a little adventure, and she'd had one, she guessed. It just hadn't been as exciting as she'd hoped.

Or as lurid, really. Based on her father's accounts, she'd halfway expected to see people doing drugs the moment she came into the door, or having sex in the corners, or--she didn't even know what else. But really, the only thing going on was...a party. A nice, big, loud party, but just a party: people were talking, dancing, sipping champagne, milling around. Nothing scandalous. Now that Andy was used to the lights and the music, and getting accustomed to the crowd, the party didn't seem like such a big deal as she'd thought. Kind of boring, even, since she didn't have anyone to talk to.

Disappointment created a lump in her throat. She hadn't wanted to get in trouble, of course--not exactly. And it wasn't too bad, standing over here in a corner, watching the people go by. It just wasn't all that different from looking through the windows of her father's car while the world passed by outside, as they drove by places she wanted to get out and see for herself. Even here, standing in the middle of "the biggest party of the season," Andy was still just a spectator.

She sighed. Maybe she'd stay until the end of this song, and then go home. Just as she'd decided this, though, she heard a faint murmur of sound, and turned around.

Throughout the night, she'd noticed people occasionally gathering in small little clusters, talking amongst themselves. Right now, such a cluster had developed alarmingly near to her. Suddenly feeling agonizingly shy, Andy ducked behind a nearby pillar, and listened to the people in the group talking and laughing. Then, one woman's laugh seemed to ring out louder than the others, and then her voice said, "I'd better move on. Ciao."

"Ciao, bella!" someone else in the group laughed, and the people parted before her.

The woman emerged from the group's center, and time--plus Andy's heart--stopped.

_So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows,  
As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows._

She was older than Andy, and her hair was as white as any snowy dove, swept elegantly around her head like a breeze of wind. Still, in spite of her white hair, she obviously wasn't elderly--about Andy's dad's age, maybe. Her skin was pale and flawless, and there was a lot of it on display, since her black velvet dress was low-cut and sparkly. Her lips were parted in a smile that displayed perfect white teeth, and her nose was an elegant arch. She wasn't wearing a mask. She wasn't pretty, not like Emily, not like the actress Andy'd seen here tonight. But she was, she was--

Andy didn't know what she was. She only knew that she couldn't take her eyes off the woman, who moved and walked like queens must move and walk, who stopped to greet people with a smile and a tilt of her elegant head. She was stunning. She practically glowed in the light. Everyone around her turned to watch her go by, and tried to speak to her. Some she smiled at; others she ignored with such aplomb that it was almost as if she'd greeted them anyway.

Andy felt hot, and cold. Once again, she had difficulty breathing, but it was different this time. Her heart was racing, and she felt as if she might faint, watching the woman glide through the crowd.

Who was she? Who could that possibly be? Andy thought about asking somebody, but she'd look like an idiot, since obviously everybody knew who the woman was. Besides, Andy wasn't sure she could speak in coherent words right now. She leaned against the pillar for support, and watched the way the lights in the candles and chandeliers played over the woman's pale shoulders and silver hair.

'Bella,' that man had called her. Not her real name, probably. But it fit. Bella: beauty. Andy had never seen anyone, or anything, half so beautiful in her life. She didn't want to leave the party anymore. She didn't want to leave here, ever. She always wanted to stand here, looking at that woman. She could do that for the rest of her life.

Then, all of a sudden, Andy remembered kissing Emily, and found herself wondering what it would be like to kiss the woman with silver hair; and then, for a moment, she wondered if she really would faint, so great was the rush of heat that overwhelmed her body.

Next thing she knew, she was stumbling blindly towards the restrooms. The ladies' room was palatial, with couches to sit on and floor-to-ceiling mirrors and everything, and Andy was grateful for its size as she made for one of the corner sinks where she wouldn't have to look anybody else in the eye. She tore off her mask, splashed cold water on her face, and then rested against the cool marble.

Oh. That was a little better, but not much. She felt like she could breathe again, but she couldn't get the image of the woman out of her mind.

"Are you all right, miss?" someone asked her in concern. It was only the second anybody had spoken to her all night, and out of terrified reflex, Andy jammed her mask back on. But it was only the female attendant who sat by the door, offering hot rolled towels and tissues to the women who came and went.

"Thanks," Andy said. "I'm...I'm fine. I, uh...thanks," she repeated, feeling like an idiot. The attendant frowned at her, but Andy fled the bathroom before she could say anything else.

As soon as she returned to the party, Andy cast her eyes around, but the woman was gone. She wasn't on the main floor. Almost in a panic, Andy headed to the upstairs balcony, but could catch no glimpse of her anywhere. She was nowhere to be seen. Had she left the party already? It was barely ten o'clock.

Andy was astonished at how the thought made her feel--as if her heart had been crushed under a rock, as if the sun had gone out of the sky and would never come back again. Andy shouldn't have left. She should have just stayed leaning against the pillar and if she'd collapsed, well, she'd have collapsed, but at least she wouldn't have...what? Left her post?

She actually felt like she might cry. This was totally ridiculous. She must just be...tired, or overexcited, or something. Heck, maybe Andy had just imagined the whole thing. Some kind of hallucination. Maybe she should go home.

This stupid mask was making her overheat again. Angry at herself, at the world, Andy retreated back into the shadows of the balcony and took off the mask again, mopping at her forehead with the back of her hand.

Then, a door to the side opened--another bathroom--and the woman stepped through it, alone, glancing idly around the balcony and at the party below. Her gaze fell on Andy, who stood paralyzed just a few feet away.

Andy knew her face was red and damp, and that her hair was almost certainly a mess, and that she had to look like a total _idiot_ with her mouth open, just staring at this woman, but she couldn't help herself, because she was even more stunning up close. High cheekbones, a perfect throat, a proud, haughty mouth--was anyone else even at the party, besides her?

Then Andy realized that the woman was staring right back at her, the haughty mouth a tiny 'o,' her eyes wide in what looked like surprise. They stood there just looking at each other, for what could either have been two seconds or two hours. Andy couldn't tell; she'd just lost all sense of time.

The woman's cheeks went a little bit red. She opened her mouth to say something; her voice caught, and she had to stop to clear her throat. Then she said, "Ah--"

But right at that moment, Andy heard a horribly, horribly familiar voice saying, just behind her, "Yoo-hoo! Oh, _there_ you are!"

Edna Hurrey. It took Andy all of half a second to jam her mask back on and step to the side so that Mrs. Hurrey could whisk past her without giving her a second glance, making a beeline for the beautiful woman who was still staring at Andy.

"Isn't this a _marvelous_ party, oh, I've simply been looking for you _all_ evening," Mrs. Hurrey gushed.

"Hello, Edna," the woman murmured, her voice low and silky. It made Andy's knees weak, but not so weak that they couldn't propel her back towards the stairs as fast as she could go. Behind her, she heard the woman call out, "No, wait a moment--"

But Andy couldn't wait a moment. Out of all the stupid people to show up, Edna Hurrey would love to tell Andy's dad all about how Andy had snuck out and spent her evening going all googly-eyed at strange, beautiful women. And if she had more than two seconds to look at Andy, mask or not, Mrs. Hurrey would recognize her.

Crap. _Crap._ Once again, Andy felt near to tears as she hurried downstairs. This time, she needed to get out of the building, but she felt so disoriented she couldn't remember where the exit was. After a few minutes of wandering, she found herself in an empty hallway heading for a door that seemed to lead outside.

It did, but it wasn't the exit. It just led to a quiet outdoor balcony, made of stone, overlooking an empty garden: a very odd oasis of peace, just a few meters away from the noisy party. There were potted plants. Andy removed her mask yet again, and took a deep breath of cool night air.

Okay. This might be all right. She could get her bearings here for a moment, and then decide what to do next: now that she knew Mrs. Hurrey was here, she probably shouldn't stay at the party. But if she left, she'd probably never see that woman again, and that would be--it just wasn't fair. Andy never should have come tonight. If she'd never seen that woman, then she wouldn't know what she was missing. She could go to bed and wake up in the morning without knowing that there was someone out in the world who--

"So this is where you vanished to."

Andy hadn't heard that voice saying twenty words yet, but she already knew it as well as she knew her own. For the third time that evening, her heart stopped. She whirled around to see the woman emerging onto the balcony, quietly shutting the door behind her. They were alone.

She had been astonishing indoors: here, in the night air, she was overwhelming. The moonlight and the light from the windows converged on her silver hair and her pale skin to make her look inhuman, goddess-like.

"Not that I can blame you for fleeing Edna Hurrey's company, of course," the woman continued, her voice amused. "But I've never seen quite that look of terror before."

"O-oh," Andy stuttered. She wasn't sure what to say. She wasn't sure she could say anything; she was breathless, faint again, her blood running hot and cold like water from a tap. She hoped the woman wouldn't notice that she was shaking. She took a deep breath, and said, like she'd read in the books, "I, um...it's a lovely party."

The woman's lips curved into an even more amused smile. "Is it?" She stepped forward until she was no more than two paces away from Andy, who tried to lean unobtrusively back against the stone railing. She wasn't sure her knees would support her. The woman had the most beautiful mouth Andy had ever seen, and all Andy could think about was kisses. It would kill her to kiss this woman. She'd fall down dead on the spot. It was all she wanted.

"Now," the woman murmured, stepping in even closer, her gaze sweeping up and down Andy's body. "Who are you?"

"Andy," Andy said, before she could think better of it. She cleared her throat quickly, and said, "Well...Andrea. But I go by Andy."

"Andrea," the woman said, and Andy's knees went weak all over again. She pronounced it differently than Andy'd ever heard it before--Ahn-dray-a--and from her lips, it sounded exotic, special, musical. "And how is it you come to be here tonight, Andrea?"

"I--" Oh, no. All of Andy's carefully-rehearsed stories flew out of her head. "I...I'm not supposed to be here, actually," she heard herself say, and bowed her head in shame. "I, um...somebody else gave me an invitation. I, um, wasn't personally--"

Then her world turned upside-down as the woman gently brushed her fingertips against Andy's chin, pressing until Andy lifted her head again and looked her in the eye. Blue. Her eyes were dark blue, and right now, her pupils seemed very large. Andy felt devoured by those eyes.

"You and half the people here," the woman said, and smiled again. But in spite of the woman's apparent cool, Andy saw a faint blush spread over her cheekbones again, and thought the sight of it just might drive her crazy. "Are you here with anyone else?"

"No," Andy whispered.

"That's hard to believe," the woman said, tracing her fingertip over Andy's chin again, before lowering her hand quickly, as if she hadn't actually meant to do that. She cleared her throat and looked slightly embarrassed before saying, in a more normal tone of voice, "A young lady like you surely has an escort."

Andy shook her head and tried to think of some witty reply. To her utter horror, she heard herself saying, with a feeble laugh, "Nope. All yours."

The woman's blue eyes widened again. Andy felt her own face going even redder. Of all the stupid--

"I see," the woman said. Andy didn't know where to look, or what to do or say. She glanced wildly over the side of the balcony, thinking maybe she could come up with something about how pretty the garden was, or…

"I see," the woman repeated, her voice quiet now. Then she cupped Andy's face in her hands, making Andy look her in the eye once more. Her hands were soft and hot. Andy felt as if her cheeks suddenly had a direct hotline to every other part of her body. It was like she'd been struck by lightning.

"I know we've just met," the woman said, drawing so close to Andy that their bodies were touching. Andy could barely hear what she was saying over her own heartbeat. "And I do hope you'll excuse me."

She kissed Andy.

Her lips brushed over Andy's--perfectly, wonderfully soft. And warm. Andy gasped, and then melted all over, leaning into the kiss, grabbing the woman at her shoulders because she was certain she was about to keel over. She couldn't keep up, she'd only kissed Emily twice, and this wasn't anything like kissing Emily and now Andy didn't know what to do.

But the woman knew. She kissed Andy, not just once, but again and again, blending one kiss into another until Andy lost count but she thought there were at least four. She nibbled and sucked gently at Andy's lips, moving her hands to stroke down Andy's throat, and then sliding them around Andy's waist.

Andy heard herself making a noise that she'd never made before, sort of a cross between a whimper and a moan. Whatever it was, it made the woman tremble against her, and pull away. Andy gasped in protest, and the woman kissed her again right away, making her head spin.

"Oh," she whispered against Andy's mouth, after a moment. "Oh...my." She kissed Andy's jaw, Andy's cheek, the side of Andy's mouth, while Andy held on for dear life and tried to remember how to breathe. She dared to slide her arms around the woman's neck, to press closer, and then--when the woman moaned herself--understood why the sound induced trembling. It went straight between her legs.

"You," the woman said, sounding not much more articulate than Andy, "this...you're..." She kissed Andy's jaw again, and then let her lips wander slowly down Andy's throat while Andy whimpered again. _"Oh."_

Those perfect shoulders. Andy couldn't resist. She bent down and kissed one of them, and couldn't believe how warm it was under her mouth, how perfectly soft. The woman gasped against Andy's throat, and so Andy kissed her shoulder again, deciding that this couldn't possibly be real, that she was having a wonderful dream and so could do whatever she liked.

"Are you some kind of mirage?" the woman asked with a breathless chuckle, as if she'd been reading Andy's mind. Then she tugged gently at Andy's waist. "Here...over here." She pulled Andy to a stone bench that rested at the end of the balcony, hidden from the doorway by an enormous potted plant. And in very short order, Andy found herself seated on that bench, twined around the most beautiful woman in the world, and being kissed as if she were somebody special, somebody who deserved kisses and caresses.

"I must be out of my mind," the woman said, "I must be..." She brushed her mouth against Andy's throat again, and then kissed her way down until her lips were pressing against the edge of Andy's low collar. Oh. _Oh_. Andy arched back against her with a groan. "Do you like that?" the woman added, her voice both breathless and teasing, as if she knew exactly how much Andy liked that.

"Yes," Andy panted. She slid her hands up and down the woman's back. This couldn't be real. She felt herself getting wet between her legs, like when she touched herself, only the woman hadn't touched her anywhere below the waist. But then the woman pulled away, looking as if she was trying very hard to recollect herself. "Please don't stop!" Andy blurted.

"I don't think I can," the woman gasped, and surged against her again, pulling Andy closer until it felt like they were one person, wrapped up in each other's arms, Andy drowning in the smell of her perfume and the press of her flesh and the velvet of her gown. She placed her hand on the woman's hip, slid it up her ribs, felt the woman shiver and heard her hiss. Oh. Andy was so close to, her hand was so close to--her hand ached with wanting to--

The woman took hold of Andy's hand, and pulled it up, pressed it against her breast. Andy groaned again, and cupped it, feeling the gorgeous weight against her palm, wishing like anything that the woman's dress wasn't in the way. Perfect. It fit perfectly in her hand--she sucked on the woman's lower lip, dared to squeeze gently--

The woman cried out softly against Andy's mouth, and if the sound of a moan was enough to make Andy tremble, that little cry was enough to make her throb. "Oh," the woman gasped, pulling away, mouthing at Andy's throat again, "oh. This...this isn't the place..." She slid her hands through Andy's hair. "We, ah--we should go. While we still can." She laughed again, breathlessly.

"Go?" Andy asked faintly, and kissed her shoulder again. She couldn't go anywhere. She'd never make it off the bench.

"I have a room here," the woman whispered, and trailed her hands up and down Andy's back. "Oh..." Andy squeezed her breast again, and got that little cry again, in response. "Oh! Andrea--" The sound of her name made Andy throb again, and she moaned. " _Andrea._ Oh, my God." The woman stopped, and kissed all up and down Andy's throat again, as if she couldn't help herself. "Will you come," she murmured between kisses, "to my room...with me?" She stopped, nuzzled behind Andy's ear, and dragged her teeth against Andy's skin. Andy gasped.

_Come to my room with me._ Where they could kiss without anybody seeing them. Where maybe they could--could do more, like Andy had heard about, only she wasn't sure how it was supposed to go.

She heard her father's voice in her head, reminding her about bad girls, about women who went too far and lost their partner's respect. Girls who were 'easy.' Apparently, judging by tonight, Andy was pretty easy. So was this woman, she supposed. But how the heck was Andy supposed to resist this, this perfect, amazing person who was, um--who--oh, right, who _was_ she?

"Wh-what's your name?" she whispered.

It seemed like a fair question. An obvious question, in fact. But to Andy's surprise, it made the woman pull away from her with an astonished look on her face. "What?" she asked.

"Your name," Andy repeated. "Um...you never told me." She managed a smile. "Fair's fair...right?"

The woman was looking at her like she had two heads. Andy had no idea why, but it was starting to make her uncomfortable. "You don't know my name?" the woman asked, like it was the most outlandish thing she'd ever heard of. "You don't know who I am?"

Andy shook her head mutely. She was getting a really, really bad feeling about this. She bit her lip. "Um...you're somebody really important, aren't you?" she asked feebly. "Oh, um...gosh. Sorry. I, uh, I don't get out much." She winced. "At all."

"Evidently not," the woman said, still staring at her. She was still panting and flushed from their kisses, and she pushed her silver hair out of her face as she tried to regain her composure. "So--you are not here, with me, because of who I am?"

"Huh?" Andy wasn't sure she understood the question. She was here because the woman had cornered her, and because she'd been more than willing to be cornered. She was here because there was nowhere else she could imagine being, maybe ever again. She just didn't know the woman's name. Although she was trying to find out.

"I don't know what you mean," she finally admitted. "I was on the dance floor, and I saw you--and you were so--and then I saw you upstairs and…" Andy gestured helplessly, feeling like an idiot. She always knew what she wanted to say when she was writing: why not when she was talking, too? "I didn't care who you were. I thought I was going to, to _die_ or something." The woman inhaled sharply. "Besides," Andy continued, "isn't that--uh--I mean, why did you come out here with me?" Sudden fear struck her. "You don't know who I am, do you?"

"Not a clue," the woman said, and Andy relaxed, a little. "And as to why--" She patted her hair down again, shaking her head. "I don't know. I just saw your face in the hallway and--" She gave Andy a long, considering look, making Andy blush again, before she gave a rueful smile. "I suppose your feeling of 'dying' was apt. I'm not sure how to put it. Certainly this has never happened to me before--I don't quite feel like myself."

"You're not…married, are you?" Andy asked uneasily.

The woman laughed harshly at that. "Oh, no. Not anymore." She reached out and took Andy's hand; her bitter smile faded into something infinitely more tender. Andy felt her heart speeding up all over again, felt herself sliding into that delicious languor again. "You said you don't get out much."

"No," Andy said, praying that awkward questions were not on the horizon.

"Then I suppose…have you ever done this before?" The woman gently stroked Andy's throat. Andy quivered, and shook her head no, unable to speak. "I see." The woman cleared her throat. "I might have been a little hasty in propositioning you right away, don't you think?"

Andy managed a breathless laugh. "Or not hasty enough," she said, thinking wistfully of just a few moments ago, when they'd been kissing like they would never part. Andy hoped they'd get to do some more of that soon.

The woman blinked, and swallowed hard. "My, oh my," she murmured, and smiled, letting her hand fall down so that it could take hold of Andy's again. "I'm _very_ glad I'm here tonight." So was Andy. The woman stepped forward. "Come inside, why don't you? Let me tempt you with champagne. We'll manage to find somewhere to talk." She smiled wickedly. "And perhaps you can tell me more about yourself than your first name."

Andy wasn't sure if she should mention that she wasn't twenty-one yet, or that she wouldn't really need more tempting with anything. She opened her mouth, hoping that something semi-coherent would come out of it, when she heard:

"Miranda! Are you out here, my dear?"

A man's voice trilled even as the door opened, letting the lights and the noise from the party spill out onto their quiet balcony. "Oh, God," the woman muttered, letting go of Andy's hand with obvious reluctance. "Let me get rid of him first."

Miranda? Andy blinked as the woman gave an airy wave to the foppish, forty-ish man who had emerged onto the balcony, holding two champagne flutes. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the lower lights outside, and Andy remembered just in time to slide her mask back on. "Oh! I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't know I was interrupting." Andy blushed furiously, behind her mask, but the man's smile was benign enough.

"Stanley," the woman said, and kissed the air to either side of the man's cheeks. She gestured to the champagne. "Is at least one of those for me?"

"And for your companion, if she wishes," 'Stanley' said, gallantly offering Andy the second flute. Andy took it gingerly and mumbled a soft 'thanks.' "Miranda, are you particularly busy?"

"Rather," the woman drawled, which obviously surprised Stanley. "Can it wait, whatever it is?"

"I--I suppose so," Stanley said. "I'll find you later. Or call you."

The woman--Miranda--smiled sweetly at him. "You do that." She raised her glass at him. _"Merci beaucoup."_

"Ta, cherie," he said, and with one last curious glance at a be-masked Andy, withdrew inside once more.

The woman turned again to Andy, who stood dumbly next to her. Oblivious to Andy's sudden terror, the woman said, "Shall we go for a stroll?" She gestured down at the garden. "That seems a likely spot for conversation."

"Your…your name is Miranda?" Andy asked faintly.

Because all of a sudden, everything was falling into place. The woman's regal bearing. Her astonishing beauty. And, more than anything else, the way everyone at the party revolved around her, wanting her attention, her approval, seeking her out as--oh, oh no, as hostess, because--

"Are you," Andy gulped, "are you _Miranda Priestly?"_

The woman gave her an amused smile. "I am indeed. You really didn't know, did you?"

Miranda Priestly. This was Miranda Priestly. The woman her father blamed for everything--for the loss of his wife, Andy's mother; for the loss of several millions of dollars in revenue; for the 'immorality' of the magazine and the culture she promoted; for _everything_ \--and Andy had just fallen in love with her so hard that it felt like her whole body was bruised from the impact.

"No," Andy said. "I really, really didn't."

The woman frowned, obviously hearing Andy's distress in her voice. "This is a problem?" she asked, her voice suddenly a little harder.

What would Miranda Priestly say, if she knew that Richard Sachs's only daughter stood in front of her? What would she do? Andy couldn't find out. She didn't dare. Her dad would kill her, and for all she knew, Miranda Priestly would as well, for daring to intrude on her party, heck, for daring to kiss her--

With a trembling hand, Andy shoved her flute at Miranda Priestly, who took it in obvious surprise. This was good, because it meant she had her hands full when Andy blurted, "I'm sorry. I am _so sorry,_ oh my gosh, I have to go," and fled the balcony as fast as she could.

She felt like Cinderella, trying desperately to get home before midnight. As she darted down the front stairs she wondered, half-hysterically, if Miranda Priestly would call out something like, "Guards! Stop her!" But nobody called anything out, the security guards tipped their hats as she passed, and she flagged down a cab with a shaking hand. Gasping, she gave the driver Nigel's address, as he'd instructed.

Andy turned around as the cab pulled away, and watched the magnificent hotel recede into the night. Her heart had never beat so hard before, and she didn't know what it was: fear, sorrow, or both.

* * *

With Nigel's help, she was back in her own house by two-thirty in the morning. But as Andy lay in bed and stared up at the ceiling, she knew sleep was a long way away.

She hadn't asked Nigel about Miranda Priestly. But she hadn't been able to marshal her thoughts or her composure, and he'd known something was wrong from the moment he'd answered the door. She'd given him some story about being overwhelmed by all the people. He seemed to have bought it, but you could never tell, with Nigel.

In the meantime, Andy's heart was still racing, and she couldn't stop thinking about the woman, who was Miranda Priestly, who was everything Andy had been taught to hate, and whom she'd come to love, just like that. Nigel and Emily would both tell her she was being a romantic idiot, that there was no such thing as love at first sight. What did they know? They hadn't looked into Miranda Priestly's eyes, and they certainly hadn't been held in her arms like something special or precious.

Andy closed her eyes, and replayed the kisses over and over in her mind. She couldn't help herself. Already, in her head, the woman at the party and Miranda Priestly were starting to merge into one person, somebody who was just "Miranda," because there could only ever be one Miranda, now. The gorgon Andy had been hearing about for years was already more of a myth than a reality. How could somebody as awful as Miranda Priestly kiss Andy with such tenderness, or feel so overwhelmed by Andy in her turn? Surely she just didn't randomly accost strange girls on balconies and invite them back up to her room. She'd certainly seemed surprised by her reaction--she'd said she felt like she was 'dying,' too…

Again, she couldn't help herself. Whimpering, Andy slid her hand between her legs and rubbed, hard and frantic, thinking again about those kisses, about Miranda's mouth on her neck, Miranda's breast in her hand. Her adrenaline was up, her thoughts were whirling, she still ached with need, and before she knew it she was coming so hard that she actually moaned out loud. She'd never done that before. Except for when Miranda had kissed her.

Her whimpers changed to pants as she rested in bed, gulping for air, sliding her sticky fingers against her slippery flesh, coaxing little aftershocks of pleasure from herself. Oh. Wow. It'd never felt that good before. Did Miranda ever do this? Might she do this, tonight, thinking about Andy?

The thought of that overwhelmed her, suddenly and thoroughly, and the next thing she knew, Andy was moving her hands again, sobbing, her fingers going faster than ever as she imagined Miranda, alone, doing exactly what Andy was doing now--those pale, elegant hands between her legs, that soft bottom lip caught between her teeth--

This time, when Andy came, it felt so good that it took her breath away and she couldn't make any noise at all. Oh. _Wow._ That was a first, too, doing it more than once. At least, right away like that.

But would Miranda really be doing this, tonight? Probably not, Andy realized, sobering up quickly. If she thought about Andy at all, she'd just remember her as the weird girl who'd kissed her without knowing who she was, and who'd then run away from her for no reason. And even that would be better than if Miranda never thought about Andy again.

Great.

* * *

Andy stared down at the heavy cream paper in front of her, and bit her lip as she picked up her pen.

Her stationery didn't have her name on it. It didn't have anything except some tasteful ivy leaves embossed across the bottom border. Would Miranda Priestly think it was tacky? Or frumpy? Surely not. How could stationery be frumpy?

Anyway, Andy should be a lot more worried about what she was going to write on the paper than about what it looked like. So far she had "Dear Miranda," which she'd crossed out, and then "Dear Ms. Priestly," which she'd also crossed out, and then written in again.

She should probably use notebook paper for the first draft or ten.

She wasn't sure why she felt so compelled to write something--it would probably be for the best if Miranda forgot she'd ever existed. But Andy just couldn't stand the thought that Miranda would think Andy had run away because…because she hadn't liked Miranda, or because she was just really rude, or… No. Whatever else, Andy didn't want Miranda to think of her like that.

It took her two hours to write an embarrassingly short letter. One hundred and twenty minutes after starting, she had:

_Dear Ms. Priestly,_

_You probably don't remember me, but we met at the party you threw three days ago in the Ritz-Carlton. We had a brief conversation on the balcony._

Well, it had definitely been brief. Too brief. And with hardly any talking at all. But it would probably be tasteless to come right out and talk about how they'd kissed and even talked about having sex. Andy felt her face going red. She wished she had a decent model for how to write letters like this. Jane Austen didn't really address it.

_I really enjoyed talking to you._

Andy went even redder. But it seemed important to emphasize that.

_I left without excusing myself. I know that seemed rude. I just want to apologize. I didn't want to leave, and I can't really explain why I had to, but I had to. When I said I wasn't supposed to be at the party, I meant it. My father is very strict, and he knows you, and if he learned I'd gone to your party I would have been_

Andy winced. Could she sound any more like a child? She wished she had the guts to make up something that sounded better, or at least more mature than 'I didn't want Daddy to catch me sneaking out.' Even if that's exactly what had happened.

She wished she could explain everything! If Miranda Priestly knew how Andy lived, and what Andy's dad was really like, surely she'd understand that it was more than just a little teenaged rebellion, more than worrying about getting caught for a minor transgression. What Andy had done was more akin to high treason. But she couldn't explain that in her letter. Darn it. Why had she ever thought that she could express herself in writing? She was obviously a terrible writer. None of this was coming out right.

_I would have been in a lot of trouble. I know how silly that sounds. I wish I could say more, but that wouldn't make any difference anyway. We'll probably never meet again and I really just wanted to apologize for my poor behavior._

Andy gulped. 'We'll probably never meet again'…why did that sound so dramatic and romantic in books, when in real life it felt so awful? She blinked back tears and felt like an idiot.

_You deserved better than that. I couldn't stand the thought that you might only remember me as being this crazy girl who ran out on you. Anyway, if you're still reading my letter, I might as well say that you're the most amazing person I've ever seen, and I'm glad I went to the party just because I met you. It's the best thing that's ever happened to me. I think about you all the time,_

Andy winced. Was that too desperate? But how could it be desperate, when she knew she'd probably never even cross Miranda's path again? She wouldn't get another chance to say this stuff. She had to get it all out now. Still…she crossed out "all the time" and wrote in, "often." Close enough.

_I think about you often, and I wish we could have had more time to talk._

Andy blushed again. Or do more. Wow. If only she'd gone to Miranda's room when Miranda had asked her the first time--without giving her name, without asking for Miranda's…maybe she could have had that, at least. Maybe. She shivered, just thinking about it, and tried not to ache with regret. At least she'd gotten all those kisses. Whatever else happened, she could remember them. She always would, she knew--and did, every night. She couldn't quite bring herself to say that, though. She'd blush to death.

The letter closed with, _Like I said, I'm sorry for running out like that. I didn't want to be rude. I hope my behavior didn't mean you enjoyed the party less. It was a lovely party and I'm glad I got to attend it, just for a little while. I hope you're well, and wish you all the best._

'Wish you all the best.' It sounded so stiff and formal. But Andy meant it, too. She hoped only good things happened to Miranda Priestly for ever and ever. No matter what her father would have thought of the matter.

She re-copied the letter in her best handwriting, and signed it: _Sincerely, Andrea._ She remembered the way Miranda had said her name. It had sounded so pretty. So sophisticated. She just hoped Miranda remembered it.

Andy nicked a stamp from her dad's study, and looked up the address for the Elias-Clarke building in the phonebook. There wasn't a specific address for _Runway,_ but if she put Miranda's name on it, and added 'the _Runway_ office' or something, it'd get there. It had to. Andy didn't know Miranda's home address, and she couldn't risk trying to find out.

She was on pins and needles until the mailman came and went that afternoon.

* * *

And that was that, really. She'd given no last name, no return address. She'd done all that she could do. It was time to let it go. Especially since Preston Roberts was coming with his parents for a visit next week, and the whole staff was running around trying to make everything ready. Lucinda had already brought several dresses from Bergdorf for Andy to try on, but they both agreed that none of them really looked good. After petitioning by both his daughter and her maid, Richard Sachs reluctantly agreed to let Lucinda take Andy shopping.

This was a huge event. Andy hadn't been out shopping in over a year. In fact, that had been the last time she'd been in the city without her dad--except for the party, of course.

It was also just the thing to cheer Andy up. She'd mailed the letter four days ago, and had been moping around ever since. Her dad had noticed it, but she'd evaded his questions. Maybe that's why he was letting her go out. For all his insistence on cooping her up, she knew that he'd never really wanted her to be unhappy.

"Have fun," Nigel said as he packed his bag when their lessons were done. "Get something fabulously outrageous." He glanced around and lowered his voice. "I'm sure you have a few ideas of what's 'in' by now, right?"

"Right," Andy said, trying to smile as she remembered the party--and Miranda--yet again. Then she pushed it out of her mind, determined not to let her memories spoil the day. This opportunity was too rare to miss.

As they settled down in the back seat of the Bentley, both Andy and Lucinda were practically bouncing with glee. It was Lucinda's considered opinion--which she only voiced when Mr. Sachs couldn't hear--that Andy didn't get to go out nearly enough. And given that Lucinda was more-or-less tethered to Andy at all times, that went double for her.

Andy watched the approach of Manhattan with wide, happy eyes. It wasn't as pretty as it was at night--she'd never forget that amazing whirl of lights--but it always impressed her. She wondered if Miranda liked Manhattan. She must--she seemed to fit here so perfectly. Andy blinked, got a lump in her throat, and shook her head, willing the melancholy away.

"Are you all right?" Lucinda asked, sounding concerned. But even as Andy opened her mouth to say 'Yes,' Tony's cell phone rang.

"We're on our way," he said. "What's that? Oh. Yes, sir. I'll tell her. Yes, sir."

Andy and Lucinda looked at his eyes in the rear-view mirror apprehensively. "W-was that Dad?" Andy asked, hoping against hope that they weren't about to be called home.

"Yes, ma'am," Tony said. "Lucinda, I'm to drop you off at Bergdorf and take Miss Andy on to the Sloane School."

Andy's jaw dropped, and then she slumped against the seat, disappointment eating her alive. The Sloane School? She'd thought she was going to Bergdorf, and instead she had to--

Lucinda looked almost as upset as Andy felt. "How long will the Sloane thing take?" she asked desperately, reaching out to pat Andy's arm. "I could wait in the car, and then we could both go--"

"Those were our instructions," Tony said, and gave Andy an apologetic glance in the mirror. "Sorry, miss. I guess he changed his mind."

Unable to speak, Andy nodded, vowing not to cry in front of them. Great. She was probably going to have to read another booklet on the Proper Deportment of Young Girls, and sit in front of Miss Pritchard who would ask her probing questions about her soul and her virtue and…did her father know? Did he know what Andy had done? Was that why she was being sent to Sloane for the afternoon, under false pretenses?

Andy gulped and tried not to panic. There was no reason to panic. Not until she knew for sure. Oh…crap.

Tony pulled to a stop in front of the department store. Lucinda gave Andy an agonized glance as she got out of the car. "I'll get you so many beautiful things," she said urgently. "I promise!" Andy nodded wordlessly, and tried to smile as the door shut behind her and Tony pulled away.

She was so miserable that she didn't pay attention for the whole rest of the drive. So, when Tony pulled in to an underground parking garage, it took Andy a few moments to realize that she had no idea where they were. "Tony?" she said in confusion. "What are we doing here?"

Tony cleared his throat as he stopped the car. "Well," he said sounding awkward, "um--"

At that moment, the other passenger door opened and Miranda Priestly slid in next to Andy in the back seat.

Andy stared at her in…'astonishment' didn't even come close. Neither did 'shock.' She felt as if she couldn't breathe, couldn't move. Her mouth dropped open.

"To my townhouse, driver," Miranda said regally, without even looking at Andy. And, just as if he worked for Miranda and not Andy's dad, Tony obeyed, smoothly turning the car around and heading for the exit of the garage. As they emerged back onto the street, Andy realized they'd been right underneath the Elias-Clarke building.

Miranda slid her sunglasses over her perfect nose, and then turned to Andy with raised eyebrows and a little smile. "Well," she said politely. "And how are you today, Miss Sachs?"

The Sloane School, Bergdorf-Goodman, disappointment, everything else receded into the mists. Andy had a million questions, but she didn't know how to articulate any of them: she just felt her face splitting into a huge smile, overwhelmed with joy at seeing the woman, her woman, again. Miranda raised her eyebrows even higher, and her cheeks went a little pink. Just like before, the sight of her blush made Andy's heart pound. Well, pound harder, anyway.

She tried to pull her thoughts together. "How," she tried, and had to clear her throat. "Um--how did you--" She didn't even know where to begin.

Miranda shrugged and tilted her head towards Tony. "Your driver seems to think you should get out more," she said. Then she smiled. "I also paid him four thousand dollars." Andy, astonished, saw the back of Tony's neck turn red.

"If I thought for one second you'd get her in trouble--" he said warningly.

"Yes, yes," Miranda said, waving her hand as if she were shooing away a fly.

"But how did you know--" Andy tried again. "I mean. How did you know who I am?"

Miranda smiled, and opened her purse. From it, she withdrew Andy's letter. "You were very discreet," she said. "I applaud you. But really…all I had to do was think about a young girl named 'Andrea' with a repressive father who hates me." She chuckled. Andy blushed. "They are in short supply." She tilted her head towards Tony again. "It wasn't very difficult to find out your driver and…arrange matters. He called me when he learned you were coming in to the city today."

"But--" Andy gulped. "W-we're going to your house?"

Miranda nodded, and her gaze sharpened. "Is that all right with you?"

Andy blushed. More than all right. It was like every sunny day in her life all at once. But-- "L-Lucinda's waiting for us at Bergdorf's," she said haltingly. "Dad doesn't let me go out by myself, so…"

"I'll call her, if you like, miss," Tony said. "I can tell her you'll be a few hours at Sloane. Your dad doesn't get home until late tonight, anyway. And even if she finds out--" he hesitated for a moment, before continuing with, "--she won't tell. None of us would."

Andy inhaled deeply, and closed her eyes. It felt like a huge weight had just been taken off her chest. "All right," she whispered. No, not just sunny days; it was her birthday, and Christmas, and trips to Scotland all together, just sitting here with Miranda, about to go somewhere with her where her dad wouldn't find out.

She felt a light touch on her hand, and opened her eyes. Miranda was looking at her with an expression that was both watchful and tender. She'd laid her hand over Andy's.

Oh. It was like summering in Provence, too.

* * *

Miranda's townhouse was small, compared to the palatial home Andy lived in with her dad. But it was in the heart of Manhattan, after all, and was still very nice. And Miranda probably had homes in other places too, just like Andy's dad did, and other rich people she knew about.

At the moment, they seemed to be alone in the house--no butler, or maid, or anything. Miranda let them both in with a key, after promising Tony that she would call him soon. (He had told her he would be no more than five minutes' drive away, and had given Miranda a stern look of warning that had made Andy blush, and which Miranda had returned with amused scorn.) She removed Andy's jacket and hung it on a hook by the door, and looked Andy up and down. Andy squirmed. If only she'd known that she was going to see Miranda again today, she'd have dressed with a lot more care, even though she had tried to look nice for Bergdorf. But Miranda seemed to approve, as she reached out and took Andy by the hand, leading her into the house. Andy felt that same wonderful tingle running up and down her arm as she had at the party.

"You're quite an object of curiosity in town," Miranda said casually as she led Andy into a den. "Did you know that?" She sat down on a sofa and patted the cushion next to her.

Andy gulped and sat down, folding her hands primly in her lap. Etiquette lessons hadn't covered this. She still couldn't believe she was actually here. "No," she said.

Miranda tilted her head to the side, and immediately hypnotized Andy with the pale curve of her throat. Miranda did not appear to notice this as she said, "I'm afraid it's quite true. Richard Sachs, the reclusive tycoon who keeps his only daughter under lock and key."

Andy flushed. "I'm not--" she said, and then paused. "Well--"

Miranda raised an eyebrow. "Do you know the hoops I had to jump through to get you here?"

Andy nodded and looked down in her lap. Then she raised her eyes again and said, daringly, "Why did you?" Then, when Miranda blinked, she added quickly, "I mean--after the way I behaved."

"You apologized very nicely in your letter," Miranda said. Then she smiled. "And not all of your behavior was bad, as I hope you recall."

Andy blushed, and beamed. Miranda cleared her throat, and glanced away. "Would you like something to drink?" she asked, her voice a bit hoarse.

It was Andy's turn to blink. "Oh," she said, trying to remember the proper answer. "Please don't go to any tr--"

"Water, I think," Miranda said, standing up and heading quickly for the kitchen that Andy could see through the doorway. Andy sat frozen on the couch for a minute, before getting up and following her. By the time she'd seated herself on a high stool at the counter, Miranda appeared to have regained her composure, and handed Andy a glass of ice water with a steady hand before sitting next to her.

"Now," she said, looking Andy dead in the eye, "tell me everything. About you. Leave nothing out."

Andy gulped, and suddenly felt bitterly ashamed--there was nothing interesting about her. Nothing that could interest someone like Miranda Priestly, anyway. "There isn't much to tell," she mumbled, and shrugged. "I mean, you know who my dad is. I've been taught by tutors my whole life. I don't really go anywhere or do anything unless Dad says it's okay."

"But you're--aren't you eighteen, or nearly?" Miranda cocked her head to the side again, a little like a bird. Or a cat. "Won't you be going to college soon?"

Andy hunched her shoulders, not wanting to be reminded, and took a sip of her water. "He's sending me to McClellan College," she said in resignation as she set the glass down. Miranda looked at her blankly. "It's this tiny religious school in the middle of nowhere. It's just for girls. He's been making donations to it for years. I think he even paid for one of the buildings. Pretty much all I had to do to get in was put my name on the application."

"How 'nowhere' is...nowhere?" Miranda asked.

"South Dakota," Andy said. Miranda looked absolutely appalled. Suddenly, Andy heard herself talking fast, at this sign from a receptive audience. "It's got curfews and dress codes and everything--and if boys come to visit, then you need a chaperone. And you have to go to chapel every day, and…" She stopped, and squeezed her eyes shut.

"My God," Miranda said. Andy shrugged miserably. "When you came to the party--was that the first time you've ever snuck out?"

"S-sort of," Andy said. "It was the first time I'd ever gone to anything like that. I mean, when I was fourteen, I was staying with my friend Emily and we snuck out to see a concert together." She smiled nostalgically, and then sighed. "Dad found out, though. He didn't let me see Emily for ages after that, and ever since then, she's always had to come to my house."

"Why?" Miranda demanded. "Why on Earth is he so strict with you?"

Andy gave Miranda a sad little smile. "You know, it's funny. He blames it on you." Miranda looked at her even more blankly than before. "Because of my mom." Miranda kept staring at her. Didn't she know what Andy meant? Andy's dad always talked about Miranda Priestly as if ruining his family was Miranda's greatest accomplishment ever. "You know," Andy said carefully, "my mom? Vivian Sachs?"

"I remember Viv," Miranda said slowly. "I haven't seen her in a few years, however. But what do you mean, your father blames me for--?"

"Mom ran off with that guy," Andy said. "I don't even know his name. But Dad always said it was your fault. He said--um, he says lots of things about you." Andy bit her lip. "I don't believe them, though," she added quickly, since it seemed important to emphasize that.

"Good," Miranda said faintly. "And I still have no idea what you're talking about--oh." Her eyes suddenly went wide. "Oh, my."

"What?" Andy said.

"I introduced Viv to Jack," Miranda admitted. "Jack Morrell. The man she left your father for. And you, I suppose. But of course at the time I had no way of knowing she'd--" She shook her head. "We were close, once. But as I said, I haven't spoken to her in a while."

"I don't even remember her," Andy said. "I mean, not really. I was only four when she left, and Dad doesn't talk about her much, except when he's talking about how awful the world is and how I ought to stay away from it, because of what it did to her."

"Is he in therapy?" Miranda asked, sounding disbelieving. "Do you really mean to tell me that he's been demonizing me to you for years, because of your mother?"

"Well--" Andy tried to find the right words. "I mean, he…he doesn't approve of you in general. And the magazine, and fashion, and stuff like that." She blushed. "He says it's immodest and superficial. He says that, not me," she made sure to add.

Then she remembered something else. "Oh, yeah," she said. "And the time you helped fix it so that Irv Radditz was chairman of Elias-Clarke instead of Dad. He was really, really mad about that and sold all his shares and says he lost a lot of money." Andy frowned. "I don't know why that matters so much, though. I mean, we've got a lot of money already." She shrugged again and took a sip of water.

Miranda rubbed the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes as if she had a headache.

"I always wanted to meet you," Andy said softly, and Miranda opened her eyes at once, looking at her. "At first, I mean, I believed him, and I was mad at you because I thought you'd ruined our family." Miranda opened her mouth, but Andy kept talking, saying, "But then I got older, and well, Dad was _Dad,_ and I thought that maybe everything he said was…you know…not a hundred percent true." She felt disloyal just saying that. But this was Miranda, and Andy wanted to tell her everything. Even the stuff that wasn't very good. Maybe especially that. "So I've always been really curious." She managed a shy smile.

"And you had no idea it was me on the balcony," Miranda said in obvious wonderment.

"No," Andy said, and just remembering what they'd done on the balcony made her face go scarlet all over again. Would they do some more of that today? She hoped so. They might never get another chance, and Andy had no idea how long they had until Tony called her back. But how to raise the subject? That definitely hadn't been in her etiquette lessons.

She cleared her throat. "Um." Miranda looked at her. "So…um…I was wondering…" Miranda raised her eyebrows. Andy felt like she was about to choke on her own voice, and she bent down to study her hands, which were tracing patterns on the countertop. "I mean, uh…I thought…d-do you, maybe, possibly, w-want to--"

Warm fingers touched her chin, gently lifting her face. And next thing Andy knew, Miranda Priestly had slid off her own stool, slid her arms around Andy, and kissed her.

Soft, and damp, and gentle, and by the time Miranda stopped, her arms were the only thing keeping Andy upright. Andy gasped. Her ears were buzzing. She loved the way Miranda smelled. "I want," Miranda breathed against her mouth, "to do _everything_ with you." Andy whimpered, and Miranda placed a gentle, almost chaste kiss on her lips. "But not today." Then, to Andy's horror, she let go and stepped back.

"What?" Andy said weakly. "Why not?" She looked down at her clothes, wondering if maybe Miranda did think she looked awful, after all.

"You are very young," Miranda said. "Specifically, you are not yet eighteen."

"So?" Andy said, confused. "E-Emily told me she, um, she, you know, with a guy, when she was fifteen years old."

"And how old was 'a guy'?"

"Sixteen, I think."

"A great difference, legally speaking." Miranda traced her thumb over Andy's cheekbone. "I would much rather spend more time getting to know you than sitting in jail because I couldn't control myself."

"I wouldn't tell anyone," Andy said quickly.

"I'm sure. But there is your inexperience to consider, as well," Miranda said. "Believe it or not, I am very grateful that I did not actually drag you up to my room that night."

She was? That was Andy's greatest regret! But before Andy could say so, Miranda continued, "I would have been very--upset--with myself if I'd only learned the truth afterwards." She gave a rueful smile. "I don't consider myself a romantic, Andrea. But there is such a thing as common decency."

"But," Andy said, gulped, and dared to continue, "I don't want to be decent with you." Miranda looked at her, then. Her eyes widened, and her nostrils flared. Her cheeks also went red. "We might not get another chance," Andy pleaded. "I mean, what if my father…"

"Oh, we'll get another chance," Miranda said, her voice hoarser than before. "Many chances. I will see to that if I have to pay off every single servant in your house--" She paused, and cleared her throat. "And I promise you that you will never set one foot in South Dakota. I am not going to lose sight of you again."

The words thrilled Andy from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. "Oh," she said, and blushed again, unable to keep from smiling.

"Um," Miranda said, and looked away. "Do you…? More ice water, I think."

"Huh?" Andy said, nonplussed, and then remembered her manners again. "Oh. No, thank you. Hey--" She reached out and touched Miranda's elbow before Miranda could move. "Um," she said, blushing again. "That doesn't mean you won't even kiss me. Er. Does it?" She looked at her pleadingly.

Miranda's eyes got wide; her pupils got big; and then she took Andy in her arms and kissed her much more soundly than she had the first time. Oh. Oh, _this_ was more like the balcony-kisses, more like the kisses that Andy thought about at night. Maybe she should tell Miranda about that sometime, after all. In the meantime, she slid her arms around Miranda's neck and forgot how to think. When a particularly delicious shiver made its way up and down her spine, she moaned.

Then Miranda pulled away, gasping, "Jesus Christ." Without her mouth, Andy felt very sad, and whimpered. "Oh," Miranda said, and kissed her again, her mouth hot and fierce. Andy felt herself twitching and aching between her legs, and wriggled on the stool trying to get some relief.

When she noticed this, Miranda gasped, grabbed hold of one of Andy's legs, and then encouraged her to wrap both legs around her waist. They were as close together as they'd been on the bench that night, and Andy was positive she was going to pass out any second now. She arched up into Miranda's body with a delighted groan, and Miranda clutched her even harder, panting against her mouth.

Then Andy remembered touching Miranda's breast last time, and felt even more faint. She placed one trembling hand against Miranda's ribcage, and said timidly, "C-can I…do you want, I mean, would you let me--?"

"Call your driver," Miranda gasped, stumbling backwards and nearly knocking over her own stool. "I mean, I will. Call him now, that is. I'll call him." She began looking around wildly, presumably for her cell phone.

"What? No!" Andy said, horrified. "No--you don't have to--I'm so sorry, I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to--I won't do that anymore." Because Miranda was right. It was much better to be together than to be apart, even if they weren't kissing. And they'd hardly spent any time together at all. "Please!" she added.

But Miranda had found her phone on the kitchen counter, and had mashed a button with one trembling finger. Then she rounded on Andy again, her eyes flashing fire. "That called him. He should be here in five minutes."

Andy gasped, and clapped a hand over her mouth, trying not to burst into tears. She'd overstepped. She'd ruined everything--

And then Miranda grabbed her and hauled her up to sit on the kitchen counter before leaning in and burying her face in the curve of Andy's throat. Her fingers, shaking, began to unbutton Andy's blouse. She said against Andy's skin, "There is a very limited number of things I can do to you in five minutes."

"What?" Andy gasped.

"Fine person I am," Miranda panted, getting all the buttons undone but the bottom two, pushing Andy's blouse aside to show her bra. "Have to call your driver to rescue you from me--" She grabbed at Andy's bra and shoved it up so she could see Andy's breasts. Her eyes glittered, and Andy gasped and trembled. "My good intentions," Miranda breathed, " _never_ work out."

Then she leaned in and oh goodness, oh goodness, she took one of Andy's nipples in her _mouth_ and began to lick and suck it. Her fingers toyed with the other one. Andy arched up off the countertop and cried out, hearing her own voice echoing off all the white tile and stainless steel. Then she grabbed Miranda's beautiful white hair, just in case Miranda had any thoughts at all about stopping, which she could never, ever do. She had to keep doing this to Andy forever. Andy heard her own voice mumbling _miranda miranda miranda_ over and over again while she arched into and shuddered against that hot, glorious mouth and those soft, wicked fingers.

Then Miranda pulled away, red-faced and wild-eyed, gasping for air. "The car," she said.

"The what?" Andy whimpered, and tried to pull Miranda close again.

Miranda resisted. "Your driver. I heard him pull up." She dragged a shaking hand across her forehead, and then quickly jerked Andy's bra back down over her breasts. Andy's nipples were hard and sensitive now, and she squeaked. "Button your shirt," Miranda ordered, and began to smooth down Andy's hair for her.

"That wasn't five minutes," Andy protested, but she began buttoning up anyway, vowing to glare sternly at Tony for not taking long enough.

"Probably for the best," Miranda said with a wry little smile. She was getting her breathing back under control. For her part, Andy wasn't sure she'd ever be able to breathe normally again. She'd read about somebody taking somebody else's breath away, but she'd always thought it was just a metaphor. Now…not so much.

She looked at Miranda pleadingly, not sure what she was pleading for. Miranda didn't seem to know either, but she kissed Andy again, much more gently this time. Andy's mouth still tingled from it. "I will see you again soon," she murmured, and then chuckled. "Perhaps at your house. With other people around."

"My dad goes on business trips sometime," Andy offered. And then, inspired, she added, "He's going to California in two weeks!"

"In two weeks, then, if not before," Miranda said, nodding as if it was all decided. She smiled and pushed a lock of Andy's hair out of her face. "Although I do hope it's before."

"Me too," Andy said fervently. "I, I won't do anything wrong next time, I promise. We'll be able to spend more time together."

"'Wrong,' she says," Miranda said, and rolled her eyes. Just then, somebody knocked at the door. Tony. He was probably wondering why Andy wasn't waiting on the front steps or something. Miranda looked at her, and Andy looked right back. In the space of a few moments, Miranda's eyes had gone from predatory to sad. Andy understood how she felt. Even though she knew she would see Miranda again, it felt like her heart was breaking just a little bit at the thought of leaving her now, just when they'd found each other again.

Miranda kissed her cheek. "Come along now," she said cajolingly, echoing Andy's thoughts. "It won't be long. Cheer up."

"I will if you will," Andy said, raising her eyebrows. Miranda blinked, and then smiled in rueful acknowledgment.

"You are something entirely unexpected," she said. "I think I will enjoy very much getting to know you better." Her smile was sly and wicked now. Andy's heart beat even faster.

"Me too," she whispered. It was true. She thought she was going to enjoy it very, very much indeed.

* * *

 


End file.
